


perfectly them

by forks



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bringing in a Third, Established Relationship, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-17 01:45:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13066566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forks/pseuds/forks
Summary: For his first term at university, Mitch didn’t expect to see two of his old rivals.  Or to learn they’re now a couple.And he sure as hell didn’t expect to start falling for them.  Both of them.





	perfectly them

**Author's Note:**

  * For [preciousthings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/preciousthings/gifts).



> Happy holidays, preciousthings! I took a mash-up of some of your likes and prompts and put this together. Hope you enjoy! :)

“Holy shit,” Mitch mutters to himself. He’s pretty surprised, to the point he almost spilled the beer from his red solo cup. 

No way in hell did he expect to see Connor McDavid at the LGBT mixer to kick off the September semester. 

Classes haven’t started yet but Mitch already loves being on campus. Taking a year off after high school grad to work and save up money to pay for tuition and dorm fees was pretty smart, he knows, but he’s ready to move on. He’s ready to be at school. He’s ready to party. 

He’s ready to hit on all the cute guys he can. 

Seeing Connor? Here? Right now? Day made.

“Excuse me.” He nods to the girl with the undercut and bright purple streaks he’d been talking to, and makes his way through the crowd.

Mitch and Connor McDavid have never been friends. They went to separate schools and played on separate teams and were rivals, even, while in the Greater Toronto Hockey League. In the time they’d played each other in the GTHL, Mitch has probably spoken all of five words to Connor. Three of them being, “Great game, man,” in the handshake line when Mitch’s team eliminated Connor’s in playoffs.

Not the best first impression for the cute guy he’s about to hit on, but Mitch knows how to work for what he wants.

“Hey, man,” Mitch says, sidling up to Connor.

Connor turns to him, meets his eyes, and looks surprised enough he almost spills his own beer from his own red solo cup. He doesn’t, so Mitch taps his against it in a _cheers_ gesture, and smiles widely.

“Oh. Uh. Hi. Mitch, right?”

Mitch isn’t going to take that too personally. Sure, it could be a blow to his confidence, but Mitch is a better man than that. It’s fine.

“Right. Mitch Marner.” He sticks his fist out. “Been a while. Don’t think we ever officially met.” 

Connor gives him a light fist bump. “Right, sorry. Didn’t mean to be rude. Connor McDavid.”

“Yeah, dude, I know. I kept track of all the cute and really awesome hockey players in our league.” Sure, they only played mid-level sort of stuff, it’s not like they were hockey superstars, or OHL worthy, but they were competitive.

A smile starts to tug at Connor’s lips, like he can’t help it. “You remember my hockey?”

Mitch laughs, good-natured. He’s not surprised that’s what Connor picked out, and it’s endearing. “Of course. You still play?”

“In a beer league,” Connor says, nodding.

“Nothing more than that?”

Connor shrugs. “I go to school. What about you?”

Mitch shakes his head. “Nothing right now. I played in a beer league a bit last year, but now I’m at school full-time and I haven’t looked into it yet.”

“I think we’re looking for more players.” Connor’s smiling widely, but then it falters, as if he remembered something. “Maybe? I mean, I can check. But there’s a good Facebook page for our league, and teams post when they need new people, or are even looking for people to fill in. I can get you the numbers for some guys I know—”

Mitch takes his phone out of his pocket. “Sure. How about we start with yours?” He opens up a new message. “What’s your number?”

Connor rattles it off, and Mitch sends him a text that says _hi, it’s Mitch._ There’s a little ping noise from the pocket of Connor’s jeans. Connor gets out his phone and messages back.

“Sweet,” Mitch says. “I was hoping to get a cute guy’s number tonight. Mission accomplished.”

Connor’s smile is big, but he’s shaking his head. “Ah, no, not like that. Flattering, but I’m—”

“Holy fuck,” someone from their right says. “ _Marner_?”

Mitch laughs. “Dylan Strome.” He glances between Connor and Dylan, noting how close they end up standing to each other. Mitch has said a lot more than five words to Dylan, but none of them especially nice. “You know, I should’ve expected you to show up at some point. Attached at the hip, right?”

“Attached a lot of places,” Dylan says. Connor goes bright pink and elbows Dylan in the ribs. Dylan only shrugs and throws an arm around Connor’s shoulders, squeezing him close.

And, _oh_. It’s like that.

That makes a lot of sense. Almost disappointing, but yes, also makes sense. Dylan doesn’t look like the weedy little snot Mitch knew a couple years ago. He’s tall and lanky and cute as fuck.

“Were you flirting with my boyfriend?” Dylan demands.

“I didn’t know he was,” Mitch says nonchalantly. “But shit, yeah I was.” 

Dylan frowns. It always was easy to get under his skin. Nice to know that holds true. He points a finger at Mitch, and Mitch almost expects to get poked in the chest. He doesn’t, but it’s a near thing. “Don’t flirt with my boyfriend.”

“Oh my God,” Connor says. The tips of his ears are pink now. “We weren’t flirting.”

Mitch takes pity on him. “Nah, we weren’t. We were just talking about hockey.”

“Christ, you _were_ flirting,” Dylan says, deadpan. A laugh bursts out of Connor and he covers his mouth, like he hadn’t meant for the laugh to escape. Dylan grins smugly, as if that was exactly his intent, and there’s happiness in his eyes when he looks Connor. Connor grins back at him adorably.

Something in Mitch’s chest twists. They’re so obviously into each other. The air crackles with something thick and he suddenly feels as though he’s peaking in on an intimate moment, even though all they’re doing is looking at each other.

Holy shit, these two are in love.

Mitch wants to find it sickening, but in truth, it’s charming as hell.

“Yeah, so,” Mitch says. He gestures at his red cup, which feels more solo than it ever has before. “Didn’t mean to, uh. You know. It was nice to see you guys,” he says genuinely. “But I’m running low. I’ll leave you to it.”

Connor frowns and Dylan looks like he couldn’t give two shits about Mitch’s presence or his lack of alcohol, which all feels very normal and right with the world.

“I’ll get you the info about the beer league,” Connor says.

“Sure, that’d be great. Have a good night, boys.” He nods at them, and makes his way through the crowd.

He’ll just chalk this one up in the L column and look for the next W.

 

**

 

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Mitch says to himself as he walked into a lecture hall on his first day of his intro biology course.

The girl sitting at the desk he’s nearest scowls at him. “Sorry,” he says cheerfully. He walks away from her but has laser focus to exactly where he wants to go.

He sits down next to Connor McDavid.

Connor, with his head in his book, glances up for a second and then does a double take.

“Are you following me?” Mitch asks him.

“I think it might be the other way around.”

“Completely unintentional,” Mitch muses happily, “but pretty awesome.”

Connor smiles and looks down at his book. Then his head snaps up again. “Hey. Did you get my text?”

“I checked out the league schedule,” Mitch says, nodding. “Think I’ll put my name down as a back up or something? I don’t want to commit to a team right now. I’m not sure I’ll have that much time.” Practices and games happened more often than he thought, and he’s also going to be working part time. It’s a lot and he’s smart enough to know not to stretch himself too thin.

“Makes sense.” Connor taps his pen on his textbook, then lets his gaze wander around the room. It feels as though he’s purposely not looking at Mitch. “It’d be cool if you played with us once in awhile though.”

“Don’t let your boyfriend hear you say that.”

Connor’s eyes cut back and he grins sheepishly. Busted. “Yeah, you don’t like each other much, eh?”

“Pfft. That’s all in the past. I can move on from stupid high school rivalries.” Mitch pauses a second then leans in. “Though, admittedly, I am a little jealous he scored such an awesome boyfriend. How the hell did he do that?”

Connor chuckles, and spots of pink dust across his face. The guy blushes easily. Mitch tucks that piece of information away for future reference because it’s good to know. It could be fun.

“Are you saying this so I tell Dylan and he gets pissed at you flirting with me?”

“Absolutely.”

“What happened to leaving it all in the past?” Connor asks dryly, though he’s grinning so Mitch figures he isn’t mad.

“Okay, so what fun is that?”

Connor smiles at Mitch. “Maybe Dylan was right about you.”

Mitch is about to ask just what Dylan was right about, and find out just how long they’ve been together, and what exactly Connor sees in _Dylan_ , when the instructor walks into the room. It’s put aside, for now, but Mitch can’t help his curiosity.

 

**

 

He doesn’t have the chance to ask after the lecture because Connor darts away for another class apparently half way across campus, and Mitch has to get to his new place of employment.

New/old place. He still works for Second Cup, making customers the best Canadian-version of Starbucks he can. Although, admittedly, a lot of Canadians go to Starbucks anyway, but at least some still go to Second Cup. It keeps him in a part-time job. However, he’s transferred to a new location, one closer to the university and the dorm, rather than the one near his parents’ house in Thornhill he used to work at. 

“The great thing is I don’t have to train you,” his new manager, Paul-call-me-Biz, says to him. “That’s always a pain in the ass, but you know what you’re doing.” Biz pauses. “Hopefully. You fucking better.”

“I’m good,” Mitch says, grinning. He likes Biz already. “Just put me out there, coach.”

Biz snorts but nods his head. “First shift in, I’ll have you shadowing—oh, here he is.”

“Holy fuck,” Dylan Strome says. “ _Marner_?”

Mitch turns around and there stands Dylan, still tall and lanky and cute as fuck, in his Second Cup uniform. Black jeans, black t-shirt, and a black pageboy cap pulled down. His hair curls just so from underneath.

“Stromer!” Mitch adds an overenthusiastic smile, just to piss him off. “How’s it going, man?”

Dylan scowls but Biz doesn’t seem to notice. “Oh, good,” he says. “You know each other. Even better. Have at it.” He goes back to his office.

“Seriously, is there a reason you’re everywhere?” Dylan asks. “You’re being creepy.”

“I am not being creepy, I’m being a university student who needs a part time job.”

“And you end up at my Second Cup?” Dylan’s eyes turn to the ceiling, as if he was looking for an answer from the sky. “Why me? Why is this happening to me?”

“You don’t have to train me,” Mitch says. “I know what I’m doing. I worked at the Thornhill location.”

“Thank God for small miracles, I guess.” Dylan turns towards what Mitch assumes is the way to the front counter. “But have you ever worked at a location that caters to caffeine deprived university students and businessmen?”

“Nope,” Mitch says cheerily. 

“Then I reserve judgement.” 

“Judge me all you want,” Mitch says. “All you’ll see is I’m awesome.”

“We’ll see,” Dylan mutters.

 

**

 

Two hours, a constant line up, and absolutely no major issues later, Mitch grins at Dylan when there’s a ten second lull.

“Told you,” Mitch says. 

Dylan rolls his eyes, but he looks happy and relaxed. Even he has to recognize the shift is going smoothly and they work well together. Rarely has Mitch clicked so easily with a co-worker, everything falling into place, and for him not wanting to pull his hair out after a crazy-ass busy shift like this.

“Yeah, I got this,” Mitch says, laughing.

“Do you have to be good at everything you do?” Dylan asks, wiping the counter. 

Mitch leers at him playfully. “You have no idea.”

Dylan snorts, shakes his head, and drapes the towel over his shoulder. “Do you flirt with everything that moves? Don’t think I don’t know about you crashing Connor’s class today.”

“Crashing! I’m registered for that course,” Mitch says. “Not my fault he is too. And, just so you know, no, no I do not flirt with everyone.”

A hot businessman in a dark blue suit and stunning tie walks into Second Cup. Mitch’s smile automatically turns brighter. “Hi there,” he says. “What can I get you on this fine day? That is an amazing suit, by the way.”

The guy blinks, but smiles, and places his order. Mitch marks the cup, hands it to Dylan to make, and processes the payment. After Dylan hands the hot business guy the cup, and once he’s away from the counter, Dylan turns to Mitch and gives him a Look.

Mitch shrugs and splays his hands out to the side. “Okay, so I flirt with everything that moves. I don’t even notice, I swear!”

He expects to be mocked or scolded or whatever, but Dylan just throws back his head and laughs. Mitch doesn’t expect to like the sound so much, nor for it to even come from Dylan, but he does and it did.

“Okay,” Dylan says, laughing. “Good to know.”

“Don’t be threatened,” Mitch says. “You and Connor. Attached at the hip and other places. I get it. I’m not trying to get in the middle of that.” Not that it wouldn’t be a lot of fun, but.

“As if you even could,” Dylan retorts.

“I mean, I _could_ , but I won’t. Promise. So you can stop hating on me. For that, and other reasons.” Dylan looks at him, and Mitch smiles brightly, gesturing at himself. “I’m good at all things. Just accept it.”

The bell over the door rings, indicating a new customer. “Thank God,” Dylan mutters under his breath, but there’s a grin to his words.

They don’t worry about it for another two hours, because the pre-evening class rush hits them. At the end of their shift, Biz asks them how it went.

Mitch looks at Dylan to answer, since he’s technically the temporary-and-completely-unnecessary trainer for the day.

“All good,” Dylan says. Mitch oddly feels as thought he’s made a huge stride in life.

“Fucking fantastic. See you boys next shift,” Biz says as he goes to the front counter.

Mitch pulls his pageboy cap off and removes his apron and nametag. He shoves them into the locker he was given in the staff room. He slips his coat on and hitches his backpack over his back. Dylan’s done similar. Mitch turns to him and holds out his fist. “Good shift, man. Glad we’re not ready to kill each other.”

Dylan laughs, almost reluctantly but not a malice trace left in it, way different from days gone past, and bumps Mitch’s fist. “Yeah, man, that was good. Think it’ll be fine.”

Mitch gives a lazy salute and then leaves through the back exit. 

This isn’t the start the semester he expected, but it’s certainly not bad.

 

**

 

“Biology can suck my balls,” Connor says grumpily, three weeks into classes. Mitch’s eyes go wide and he can’t hold back his delighted laughter. Connor just scowls at him from his desk in the lecture hall while they wait for the instructor to come in.

“And not in the fun way, right?”

“Not even a little.”

“Then why are you here?” Not that Mitch minds. He likes having a class with Connor. He’s surprisingly funny under all the seriousness.

“Science requirement.” Connor winces. “I put it off last year but I have to get it done.”

Mitch nods. Connor’s in Commerce and will probably be a millionaire businessman in a short decade. Mitch is here on a science requirement too—he suspects a lot of people in this lecture are—but he doesn’t mind it much.

“Isn’t Dylan in the Kinesiology program? He must know this stuff. Study with him.”

Connor makes a face. “We’ve tried. It’s not—it’s better for our relationship if we don’t.”

Mitch laughs. “Okay, fair enough. We can be study partners. I mean, I have to work at this kind of stuff, but I do okay. Might as well work at it together?”

Mitch’s heart nearly bursts with the beaming smile it earns him from Connor. “Dude, that would be so awesome. We could go to your dorm—” He cuts off at the face Mitch makes. “Or not?”

“My roommate is not—quiet. And always has girls over.” Mitch has taken to spending a lot of time in the library. It kind of sucks but that’s the risk with the whole random dorm room assignments. “Nice guy,” Mitch adds honestly, “but not the best to try to study around.”

“Library it is. Or one of those study rooms. Or...” Connor trails off, as if thinking. Then he nods to himself, firmly. “My place. Mine and Dylan’s.”

“Library is probably a better idea. Dylan hates me.”

“He does not.”

“Not anymore,” Mitch concedes. He’s gotten that much from the handful of shifts they’ve worked together so far. But going over to his apartment? With his boyfriend? Mitch is a dick but not that much of a dick to intrude on some dude’s home.

“It’ll be fine.” Connor pulls out his phone. His thumbs fly over the screen as he types a message. “I’m checking, to make sure and so you feel better, but seriously. It’s all good.”

“If you say so,” Mitch says doubtfully. The instructor walks in and Connor slips his phone away for now.

 

**

 

“Told you!” Connor holds out the phone triumphantly. Mitch catches a glimpse of the conversation, laughing when he sees Dylan’s _thank fuck I don’t have to help you_.

“Okay, okay,” Mitch says, holding his hand up in defeat. “So you were right. You know your boyfriend better than I do. Imagine that.”

“Well, to be honest ago, a month ago he probably would’ve been pissy. But it’s cool, now, I promise.”

Mitch raises an eyebrow. “Okay, if you say so.”

“I say so.” Connor nods. He looks at his phone and sighs. “Class in ten minutes. I have to go. Are you free tomorrow night to study?”

“Sure,” Mitch says. 

“I’ll text you the address. It’s not far. Later, man.”

“Later.”

 

**

 

The apartment is everything Mitch expected it to be. Small, cheap, full of second hand furniture. Hockey memorabilia everywhere, especially the Leafs. And a Sidney Crosby poster tacked to the outside of the bathroom door.

“The Pens? Really?” Mitch asks sceptically.

Connor’s cheeks go pink. “More like Crosby? He’s my favourite player. Leafs are my team,” he adds hastily.

“Okay, fine,” Mitch says teasingly. “I’ll give this one a pass.”

“Thanks,” Connor says dryly. “Come on, we can set up at the table.”

“How long have you guys been here?” Mitch follows Connor into the kitchen. There’s a small table with three chairs pushed against the far end. It’s cleared off, but the counters are covered with dishes and stacks of books. Mitch suspected it was a recent cleaning of the study space.

“Moved in at the end of the summer. Right before the semester started.”

“How long have you guys been together?” He looks at the stuff pinned to the fridge with ridiculous plastic alphabet letter magnets. There’s a picture of Connor and Dylan in suits, each with an arm slung around the other.

“Since then, actually,” Connor says, pointing to the picture. “Grad. We finally figured shit out.”

“Did you live together last year too?”

Connor shook his head. “No. I was commuting from home, and Dylan lived in dorms. I spent so much time crashing with him we figured we might as well just get a place.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah. I’m glad we did.” Connor sounds happy, and he looks at the picture so fondly. Dylan Strome is one lucky man.

Mitch is thrown off when Connor looks at him and asks, “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Have a boyfriend?”

“Nah, nothing serious.” Mitch suddenly doesn’t feel like his dating life is worth talking about. He hooks up, he’s been happy with hooking up, but he hasn’t had anything real in a while. He likes relationships and commitment, but no one he’s met recently is right for that. 

Except for Connor and Dylan, but, well. They’re serious for each other. It’s cool.

Connor hums and doesn’t push, seemingly understanding Mitch doesn’t want to talk about it. “Cool,” he offers, then sits down at the table. “Guess we should do this studying thing.”

Mitch follows his lead. “Guess we should.”

 

**

 

A couple hours later, Dylan bangs open the apartment door. “I’m home, babe!”

“I hope you brought me food,” Mitch calls out.

Dylan pokes his head through the kitchen door and mock-scowls at Mitch. “I wasn’t talking to _you_.”

“Well, I was talking to _you_ ,” Mitch says. “I’m staving.”

Mitch knows Dylan brought food for them. He’d texted half an hour earlier when his night class was finished, and Connor asked what Mitch liked on his pizza. He can smell it, and he’s suddenly famished.

“Pizza with olives,” Dylan says. It was the one thing Mitch said he didn’t want. “So many olives. Layers and layers of olives. _Delicious_.”

“You’re such a dick,” Mitch says.

Dylan rolls his eyes but steps into the kitchen with a box of pizza. “There’s no olives. But if you don’t like it, too bad for you. You can make the one box of Kraft Dinner that’s in the cupboard.”

“No milk,” Connor says.

“No Kraft Dinner for you,” Dylan tells Mitch.

“Just give me a piece of pizza, you fuck,” Mitch says, reaching for the box. 

“No manners, Jesus, after I walked all the way to get this,” Dylan says, but puts the box on the table. He grabs a roll of paper towels off the counter from behind a stack of books.

“It’s on your way home,” Connor points out, taking a piece.

“Spoilsport,” Dylan says. He sits down in the empty chair and grabs a piece of pizza. “How’s the studying going?”

“Good,” Mitch muffles through a bite of delicious BBQ chicken and sun-dried tomatoes concoction Dylan ordered. “We got a lot done. I think we’ll have to be done though, Connor. My brain is fried.”

Connor nods. “For sure. But yeah, it was good. I’ve retained more in the past two hours than I have in two weeks.”

“Cool,” Dylan says. “You guys up for video games, then?”

Connor nods and Mitch blinks in surprise. He didn’t expect to be invited to stay longer, especially not once Dylan was home. He thought he’d have a bite to eat and then be booted out.

“Yeah,” Mitch says. “I’m in.”

 

**

 

Mitch falls into a routine in the next several weeks. He goes to classes. He works on his course load. He has shifts at Second Cup—usually with Dylan, now that Biz knows they work well together. He studies with Connor, and usually ends up hanging out with Connor and Dylan at their apartment afterwards, playing video games or watching hockey when the season starts in October.

Their first practice for beer league is so much goddamn fun. The boys introduce him to the other guys, all good skaters with decent heads for hockey. It’s fun and Mitch is happy to be back on the ice.

He can’t make every game, but they make him feel welcome when he does. Some of the guys, Max, Duke, Merks, remind him of the guys from back home he played with. There’s a group chat started, and he’s included. Mostly it’s links to Barstool Sports and On The Bench, but sometimes there’s actual team info for practices and games and group get-togethers.

Mitch’s life is full, and he’s pretty fucking happy.

 

**

 

“I’m gonna have to shiv a bitch,” Dylan mutters unhappily under his breath. He’s wiping down the front counter at work, a mess of Pumpkin Spice Cold Brew just about everywhere from where some frantic student had unintentionally spilled it.

Mitch had made her a new one, insisting it was okay, and Dylan hadn’t lost his cool either. Now that she’s gone, he looks murderous.

“Will you calm down, sunshine?” Mitch pulls a sleeve of lids from the cupboard under the counter to restock the supply. “You’re going to scare the customers away. Biz will have your balls.”

“I’m just—” Dylan stops what he’s staying when someone walks through the front door. He puts a smile on his face. Mitch can tell it’s forced, but just because he’s learned Dylan’s real smile by now. It’s soft at the edges and makes his eyes crinkle. Right now, it’s too sharp. The public wouldn’t be able to tell, though. Dylan knows how to behave professionally when he needs.

Dylan takes an order for a Pumpkin Spice White Hot Chocolate, and Mitch makes it. Then another person orders, and another, and then a whole line up comes in. Dylan doesn’t relax. By the time their shift is covered, it looks like he’s about to shake out of his skin.

“Go home,” Mitch says in the staff room while Dylan viciously yanks the pageboy hat off his head. “Go cuddle with Connor. Get your dick sucked or something.”

Dylan snorts, but he doesn’t sound happy. Trouble in paradise?

“He’s gone for a couple days.”

Oh, well. There’s the problem. “Well I can’t help you with either of those things. As fun as it would be.”

Dylan snorts again, but it sounds softer, less unhappy this time. “As if you stood a chance to get up on this.”

“As if I’d want to.”

“You’re contradicting yourself. Didn’t you just say—”

“Okay, okay, whatever, I was just trying to make you stop being a such a cranky asshole.” Mitch puts his hands up. “There is something I can do for you, though. Improve your mood a little bit, even if it’s not with cuddles or blow jobs.”

“Oh, you think so?” Dylan raises an eyebrow challengingly. “And what’s that?”

Half an hour later, they’re at the nearest billiards bar. Mitch has bought them a couple Coors beers, and Dylan is kicking his ass at pool.

Dylan whoops as he sinks the solid blue two ball. “Finally,” he says triumphantly, standing up straight from where he took the shot. There’s a swagger to the way he leans his hip against the edge of the billiard table. “Something you’re not good at. I mean, you’re not bad. But you aren’t great, are you?

Mitch is holding back. He had in his mind to hustle the hell out of Dylan, just for fun. But Dylan looks happy and relaxed, a complete turnaround from their shift at work. Mitch can’t make himself do it.

“Yeah, yeah, look at you go.” Mitch rolls his eyes but he grins. He watches as Dylan circles the table, looking for his next angle. He tries very hard not to stare at Dylan’s ass when he bends over to line up the shot, but Dylan glances over his shoulder and catches him doing it. Dylan winks, then looks back at the table, and sinks the solid seven.

Mitch groans. He pretends it’s over the shot. 

“This was a great idea,” Dylan says.

“Hard to argue that one.”

They finish the game and give up the table to a couple guys waiting their turn, but sit down to share some wings and have a couple more drinks. They end up talking about the beer league, and swapping stories about the season before.

“Then my friend Cliff decides, hey, hey I can take that guy, like the idiot he is.”

“Let me guess,” Dylan says. “He didn’t take that guy.”

“Nope. I had to.”

Dylan bursts out laughing. “You did not.”

“I can handle myself, thank you very much!”

“Yeah, I remember,” Dylan says. 

“Back from the days when you hated me,” Mitch says cheerfully.

“I didn’t hate you!” Mitch raises his eyebrows. Dylan rolls his head back and forth then nods. “Okay, so I hated you.”

“But you don’t any more.” Mitch says this confidently. He knows it’s true.

“I guess I hate you a little less,” Dylan says, a playful tone in his voice. “I found the one thing you’re not good at. We’re coming back here again.”

“Sure,” Mitch says easily. “Any time.”

Dylan’s fingers, holding a salt & pepper wing, stop half way to his mouth. He stares at Mitch. Then he drops it back into its little paper-line basket. “Oh, you fucking asshole. You dick!”

Mitch blinks at him and holds up his hands. “What? What did I do?”

“You’re good at pool!”

“You beat me!”

Dylan narrows his eyes and points a finger at Mitch. “You’re good at pool. You fucking let me win.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mitch says with a smirk. “I’m good at pool.”

“You fucker.” Dylan pushes away the basket of wings. “Re-match. Play to your abilities.”

Mitch points at the basket. “There’s still some—”

“Fuck the wings,” Dylan says, standing up. He takes the end swig of his beer. “We’re playing pool.”

They play pool.

It’s actually a close game. Dylan is more than capable of holding his own. But he scowls after Mitch sinks the last of his striped balls, and legally pockets the eight ball.

Mitch wins the game.

Dylan sighs. But then he sticks out his hand to shake Mitch’s. “Good game,” he says. “I’ll get you next time.”

One of the guys who’d played the table before them comes over. “Hey. You guys want to play doubles?”

Dylan and Mitch look at each other. “Sure, we’re in,” Dylan answers for them. He lightly punches Mitch on the shoulder. “We’re much better as a team anyway.”

“Let’s do this.”

They wipe the floor with the other two in a best of three—then extended to five.

“Best of seven?” one of them asks.

Dylan laughs but shakes his head. “What is this, the Stanley Cup championships? Thanks, man, but I gotta get home. Early class tomorrow.” They shake hands with them and then leave the billiards bar.

Dylan throws his arm around Mitch’s shoulder, and squeezes him in tight. Mitch’s heart thuds in his chest, sudden and loud. He’s seen Dylan do this time and again with Connor, but that’s... that’s different. Mitch’s head knows it’s different, but apparently his heart is doing its own thing.

“Thanks, man,” Dylan says. He looks at Mitch. His smile is soft and his eyes are crinkled at the corners. 

Now Mitch’s lungs decide to stop working, his breath catching in his throat. “For what?” he manages to ask.

“For tonight. I had fun. It’s just what I needed.”

Mitch can’t help himself. He slips his arm around Dylan’s waist and squeezes back, like an idiot. “Anytime, man.” It’s scary how true that is.

 

**

 

Fall weather and pumpkin spice fade away into cool winter air and Peppermint Moccaccinos. Lectures and course work melt into exams.

“I can’t do this,” Mitch says one night. He’s sitting at the kitchen table at Dylan and Connor’s, a frequent spot of his now.

“What?” Dylan looks up at Mitch from across from him, and a worried frown crosses his face. “Connor!” Dylan calls out loudly, startling Mitch.

“What?” 

“We need you.”

We. That word is going to drive Mitch around the bend, probably. We. He likes it too much. _We_.

He blinks at Dylan. He blinks at Connor when he comes into the kitchen. Then he blinks at the pile of textbooks and the crazy calendar of exams he has.

“Oh, crap,” Connor says. 

“This isn’t good,” Dylan says. “We need to come up with a plan.”

_We_. Only Mitch knows this _we_ means Dylan &Connor, and not him.

It’s possible the lack of sleep and overload of work is making him lose his mind.

But it seems Dylan and Connor realize that. They went through first year university last year, maybe the recognize the despair on Mitch's face. Connor orders some Skip the Dishes, which they almost never use because the delivery price is ridiculous, but, “It’s a necessity right now, Mitch.” 

“When was the last time you slept?” Dylan asks.

Mitch tries to think. “A couple hours last night?”

Dylan nods. “Food. Then you can nap in our bed.”

Mitch shakes his head. “I don’t have time for that—”

“It doesn’t have to be long. But I promise, it’ll help your studying tonight better,” Connor says. He gestures at Mitch. “Nothing is going to sink in while you’re like this.”

“You’re a fucking mess,” Dylan puts in.

“Fuck you,” Mitch says, but with no heat. It’s true. He’s not at his best and he needs some help. So he’ll accept it, if they’re willing to give it.

They make sure he’s fed. Dylan tidied up their bedroom while Mitch was eating, and then ushers Mitch inside. He’s so tired he doesn’t even pay much attention to the room, but the sheets are a mix of Dylan’s cologne and Connor’s shampoo and something else he tries not to think about too hard.

Mitch only sleeps for an hour and a half, but it’s the best sleep he’s had all week.

“Okay,” he says, walking back to the kitchen. Connor and Dylan look up at him and smile. “I can do this.”

“Fuck yeah, you can,” Dylan says, and Connor beams. 

That moment alone, the two of them looking at Mitch with all the support in the world, is enough to get him through the next two days of crazy study cramming and stressful exam writing.

They repeat it again on the weekend, and it feels like he flies through the end of his exams.

 

**

 

Mitch has a little trouble deciding what to do about the holiday break. 

On one hand, going home to visit his parents would be good. And there will be very few people at the dorms.

On the other hand, Biz has a bunch of shifts to cover for the few students who aren’t from the city or from the GTA at all, and are going home for the break. It’s not like Mitch’s parents live very far. Hell, he probably could have lived at home and commuted, but he’d been ready to leave. He could commute back and forth to cover shifts, though, right?

“You can just stay at our place,” Dylan says at the end of one shift as they stand in Biz’s office and look at the schedule and the open shifts. “If you pick up back-to-back days, you don’t want to commute.”

“I mean, if you’re sure? Connor would be okay with it?”

“He’ll be around but he’s not working or anything, so he’ll probably go to his parents’ a lot.” Dylan shrugs. “He won’t mind.”

“Check with him.”

“ _He won’t mind_ ,” Dylan stresses, but pulls out his phone. Mitch looks at the schedule and picks shift he’ll work anyway, and then once Dylan says, “I told you it was fine,” puts himself down for a couple more.

It’s a good schedule. Balanced. He’ll spend time with the boys, and spend time at home with his parents, especially the couple days right around Christmas Day, since this Second Cup location is closed anyway.

It’ll be good.

 

**

 

Mitch didn’t think practically living with Connor and Dylan through too well.

In some ways, it’s incredibly easy. In others, way too difficult to actually handle. 

 

**

 

One morning, Connor flips the pancakes he’s making while humming _We Wish You A Merry Christmas_ off-key. Connor’s cooking skills are limited, but he makes damn good pancakes, and he’s up when he doesn’t have to be, making breakfast for Dylan, and Mitch by proxy, before they go to work.

“How're you feeling?” Connor asks. He’s a little blearing around the eyes, but Mitch suspects he is too.

“Good,” Mitch says. He coughs to clear his throat, and takes a sip of water. “Hopefully Biz isn’t pissed when me and Dyls go in hungover.”

Dylan walks into the kitchen. “Whose hungover?”

“You look like you were hit by a truck,” Mitch says.

“Asshole,” Dylan says.

“You look fine,” Connor says. He leans into the kiss Dylan places on his cheek.

“Liar,” Dylan says.

Connor and Mitch laugh. The three of them played a beer league game the night before. Connor had a hattrick, Dylan had a bazillion assists, and Mitch did pretty okay too. It was the last game before a break for the holidays, so they went out with the guys to a local sports bar, caught the late Leafs game airing from the west coast, and drank a lot of beers.

Fucking good time, it was.

“No regrets,” Mitch says this morning. Connor places a plate in front of him with three perfect pancakes. “Really no regrets. Thanks, man, this is awesome.” Connor beams at him.

“Thanks, babe,” Dylan says when Connor places some in front of him. Connor leans down to kiss Dylan’s forehead. 

“Aww, no kisses for me?” Mitch makes a kissy face before shoving some pancake into his mouth.

Much to his surprise, Connor leans over, places his hands on Mitch’s cheeks to tilt his head up. Mitch is too surprised to do anything as Connor ducks in quickly and places a loud, smacking kiss to his forehead. 

Dylan laughs, and pancake falls out of Mitch’s mouth. 

“Have fun at work,” Connor says, nonchalant. He leaves the kitchen without even eating.

“Where are you going?” Dylan calls after him.

“Back to bed!”

“Asshole!” Dylan says. He grins at Mitch when they hear Connor’s laugh and the bedroom door shut.

Mitch grins back, as normal as possible, even if he still feels the warmth of Connor’s palms against his face. 

 

**

Later that day, Dylan and Mitch make their way back to the apartment through a snow blizzard. Mitch does his best to protect the pizza they picked up on the way home, because Connor texted them and said he’s done his one good deed of the day with breakfast. 

When they come in, Connor’s curled up on the couch under a blanket. Dylan places his cold hands on Connor’s face then pushes them under the collar of his shirt. Connor makes a displeased noise and tries to shove him away, but Dylan just says, “I’ll warm you up, promise,” and kisses him to make him stop resisting. Connor sighs against his mouth.

“Could you do that somewhere else that’s not my bed for tonight,” Mitch says dryly, taking off his jacket and dumping it on the second hand recliner in the corner of the room.

“You like it,” Dylan retorts.

Mitch ignores the words, and something flutters in the pit of his stomach. He ignores that too. He tilts his chin at Connor. 

“Why is it so cold in here?”

“Stupid radiator. It’s working but not, like, really good. I called the super. He’ll be here in the morning.” 

“Good cuddle opportunity,” Dylan says. He plops down on the couch, getting under the blanket Connor’s draped over him, and cuddles in close to Connor’s side. 

Mitch stands beside the couch, shifting uneasily foot to foot. His normal reaction would be to call for some cuddling too, but. It feels off, today, to do it, and he doesn’t know why.

They both look up at him expectantly. Mitch very nearly walks over to the recliner to bury himself under the jackets piled there.

Then Dylan rolls his eyes and lifts up the side of the blanket.

“Oh thank fuck,” Mitch says, slipping into a familiar joking tone. He can do this. He flops on the couch, making it bounce a little, and the other two laugh. He gets in close to Dylan—not the same way as Dylan did to Connor, though he suddenly wishes he could and what the hell—and pulls the extra blanket off the back of the couch to put around their shoulders.

They spend the night like that, watching Die Hard because it is one hundred percent a Christmas movie, and it’s okay. Everything is fine. Really.

Until Connor and Dylan get up to get ready for bed. They both look at Mitch. Connor looks like he wants to say more, and Dylan curiously cautious.

“Night, guys,” Mitch says. He pulls the several blankets over him and burrows down.

“Night,” they both say. They make their way to their bedroom, their warm bed, where they’ll be pressed close to each other. Maybe spooning. Mitch wonders who is the big spoon and who is the small. Or maybe they face each other, foreheads pressed and sharing warm breaths of air.

Mitch blinks at the ceiling and forces those thoughts from his mind so he can sleep.

It doesn’t work out that way.

 

**

 

Mitch comes back to the apartment after a day of braving the mall and doing some Christmas shopping with his mom.

He lets himself in with the key the boys gave him as an early Christmas present.

“Well, the Leafs keychain is the present,” Dylan had said, jingling the Dollarama keychain at him.

Connor grinned. “But we thought the key would be helpful for you to come and go as you need.”

He was shocked at the time to get it, and he still is. It feels like a pretty big gesture, and he doesn’t know how to read it. So he doesn’t, because there is nothing here _to_ read. But, as he lets himself in from the shopping trip, he can’t believe how disappointed he is neither of them are home.

Mitch goes into the bathroom and showers quickly. When he gets out, he stares into the mirror. Then he glances around, and sees Dylan’s shampoo and Connor’s deodorant and Mitch’s own shaving cream. Everything all mixed in together, like it belongs there. 

It hits him, sudden and hard, that this is all very domestic. And he likes it, in a way he knows he shouldn’t. 

And he doesn’t know what to do with that.

He hears the apartment door open. 

“Hey, Mitch!” Dylan says.

“Mitchell Marner!” Connor calls out.

“Yeah?” he calls back. “I’m here!”

They both cheer in unison, make a loud whooping noise like it’s the best thing they ever heard. It makes Mitch’s heart burst, the happiness they clearly have for him being there. “Oh, I’m so fucked,” he tells himself in the mirror, but it’s hard to make himself care right now. He just wants to see them.

He pulls on clothes and goes to find his boys.

 

**

 

One night absolutely kills him.

It’s the middle of the night, only the dimness from the street lamp giving him any light as he quietly rolls off the couch. The heat has been fixed, thank God, so he’s not freezing his balls off as he makes his way to the bathroom.

He pauses, though, when he hears a soft moan. 

“Shh.” There’s a soft hush coming from down the hall, past the bathroom. The only door down there is to Dylan and Connor’s room. Mitch can’t see, but it’s got to be open a crack or something. There’s no way he should hear so clearly the creak in the mattress as someone shifts, and another moan escapes.

Holy shit. Connor and Dylan are having sex. 

It’s not like Mitch didn’t know they did. It’s been obvious, sometimes, during the semester, with the sex-mussed hair or the faint hickeys peaking out from under shirt collars and the absolutely satisfied look they both carry at times. He’s only been staying there a few days, and he hasn’t heard it and he certainly hasn’t seen it happening.

But.

“If you keep doing that,” Dylan pants, not too quietly, “he’s going to end up hearing us.”

There’s a soft sucking noise, and then Connor’s rough voice says, “As if you’d mind.”

Dylan’s following moan sounds desperate.

Mitch puts his hand on the hallway wall so he doesn’t fall over. It’s just, nothing, nothing real, he knows. Two guys dirty talking to get off. But. _God._

He very quietly retreats to the living room. The only thing that sucks is he really has to piss, and now he’s half hard. He doesn’t know what to do about dealing with either of those things. He sits down on the couch, and tries to put together a plan. Tries to will it all away.

He hears one more moan, faint but so loud in the otherwise quiet apartment.

No. No, he can’t have this. He can’t pretend to have this. He needs it all to stop. He stands up again, quickly, as if just getting off the couch. He purposely bumps into the side table, a couple beer bottles clattering together but thankfully not falling.

“Oh, shit,” he says, not too quietly but as if pretending he was trying to be and the sudden and real burst of pain in his toe made it too difficult.

He’s not trying to cockblock anyone here, not really, but for his own sanity he can’t hear them do this. It’ll make the thoughts and feelings that’ve snuck up on him push him right over the edge. 

He freezes again for a second, and then hears the soft click of a door shutting. Releasing a breath, he walks down the hall, not trying to be quiet but not being purposely loud. When he reaches the bathroom, it feels as though the poster of Sidney Crosby tacked on the outside of the door is judging him. He takes the fastest piss in the world, washes his hands, wants to bash his head into the mirror but doesn’t, and goes back to the couch.

He thinks about what he heard. He thinks about his own dick, which had flagged but is taking interest again the more he thinks about what he heard. He wants to get himself off, and it’s not like he hasn’t quietly done so while crashing on this couch before. But now it feels like he’d be crossing a line he really shouldn’t.

Putting on his headphones and bringing up Spotify on his phone, he stares at the ceiling and pretends there’s nothing happening in the apartment he wants to be a part of. 

He tosses and turns long into the night.

 

**

 

He goes into work on very little sleep, and a million questions running through his mind about how he’s going to deal with this… situation… he’s gotten himself into. He’s not sure he can stay at Connor and Dylan’s any longer. It’ll break him. Or, at the very least, he’ll screw something up and make it all very awkward.

He catches a break. A plan is set in motion he didn’t even have to worry too much about. The Ghost of Christmas Present, or what the fuck ever, must be working on his side.

“It would be a huge favour if you can do this,” Biz says. “It’ll only be for a couple weeks. A medical leave they need covered.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” Mitch says. “Seriously, I’ll be able to go home to my parents. Have a real bed and stop sleeping on the couch.”

“You do look like sit,” Biz says jovially. Mitch just grins and takes the jab, because he knows it’s true. “But, seriously, man. Thanks a fucking million.”

“No problem,” Mitch says. “But I don’t expect any hassle when I give you my school schedule to work around in January.”

“Deal,” Biz says. 

The present from the Ghost of Christmas Present, or what the fuck ever, is that the Thornhill Second Cup location needs help, with someone out on medical leave for a couple weeks. It’s the location Mitch used to work at, before going to school, and the manager there is a buddy with Biz, which is how Mitch got the job near campus in the first place. They all talk it over, and Mitch’ll go on loan to Thornhill while Biz gets the shifts downtown covered. 

It’ll give Mitch the space he needs to work out his head about how he’s falling for his two new best friends. The best friends who are already a couple, and Mitch is so fucked.

He needs to go home for a while. It’s not a bad thing, he thinks.

 

**

 

He lets himself into the apartment with his key, and thanks the heavens above and Santa Claus and all his reindeer there isn’t the sounds of sex coming from anywhere. 

“Hey, guys,” Mitch says. Connor and Dylan both look up from where they are on the couch, draped over each other and playing around with their phones. 

“Hey, how was work?”

“Good.” Mitch starts to go through the apartment, picking up his clothes. He finds his duffle bag behind the recliner, stuffed with some clean clothes. There’s a garbage bag beside it, with the dirty clothes he’s been accumulating. How did he end up with this much stuff here?

Connor frowns at the bags. “What’s going on?”

“I’m, uh.” Mitch clears his throat. This shouldn’t be hard to say. He’s not doing anything wrong. “I’m going out to my parents tonight. To stay with them.”

It has them both sitting up, somewhat startled, or maybe alarmed. This is not what Mitch intended. 

“I thought you were going at the end of the week. Don’t you have to work?” Dylan asks. He doesn’t look too happy.

Mitch waves a hang through the air. “I’m on loan to the location I used to work at, for a couple weeks.” Mitch shrugs. “It’s all good. It’ll be good to get home. See my parents. But, you know. Thank you. Seriously. It was awesome of you to let me stay here.”

“Of course,” Connor says, giving Dylan a look. He smiles at Mitch. “And, no problem. Any time. Have a good Christmas, yeah?”

“Yeah. You too.”

Mitch stands awkwardly for a moment in the silence of the room, then Dylan rolls his eyes and pushes Connor’s legs off him. He gets up and crosses the small room in quick strides, and before he knows it, pulls Mitch into a hug. “Have a good Christmas.”

“You too.” Mitch squeezes back. He shouldn’t, but he does. He’s long suspected Dylan would be an amazing hugger. 

Connor playfully pushes Dylan aside and hugs Mitch too. It’s just as nice, just as right, and it’s takes everything in Mitch to not push him away, just to get away from all the stupid, fuzzy feelings mixed in with regret he has.

“We’ll see you at New Year’s?” Dylan says, sounding hopeful.

“I—maybe,” Mitch says, noncommittally. Max from their rec league is throwing a party at his place, and the three of them are invited.

“Maybe? What maybe?” Dylan frowns. 

“Friends of mine I went to school with invited me to theirs.” It’s not a lie at all. Mitch hasn’t said yes, yet, but maybe it’s a good idea. Hanging out somewhere that he goes stag to, just to see Dylan and Connor kissing at midnight, would probably make Mitch want to punch himself in the face.

“Oh. Well. Okay,” Connor says. He’s lost his sunniness too. Mitch hates himself. “It’d be cool to see you, but we understand.”

“I’ll see, I’m still not sure,” Mitch says. The disappointment on their faces is too much to bear, and he almost caves. He’s got to get out of here.

“Game next week, right?” Dylan says.

Mitch shoots them finger-guns, like a total fucking loser. “You betcha. I gotta go,” he says, picking up his bag. “I’ll talk to you guys later, yeah?”

Dylan sends mocking finger-guns back. “You betcha.”

 

**

 

The days leading up to Christmas blur into each other. Last minute Christmas shopping, helping his mother with errands, shovelling the front walk, and working at Second Cup and making a never ending wave of Peppermint Moccaccinos. He doesn’t end up going to the game because family comes into town unexpectedly. As much as he likes hockey, seeing family for the first time in a year and a half comes first. The team in the group chat are cool with it. Even Connor and Dylan chime in about it, telling him to have fun.

The first thing he does Christmas morning is send Dylan and Connor a Snap, wishing them both Merry Christmas and wishing them well. He can’t help himself. 

That night, he gets a Snap back of them, together, wearing ugly Christmas sweaters and holding glasses of eggnog. There’s a second one of them kissing under a sprig of mistletoe.

It’s unfair how great they look together.

Mitch doesn’t try to screenshot it, but it’s a near thing.

 

**

 

New Year’s in Thornhill isn’t so bad. Cliff convinces him to come to the party. It’s too hard to say no when Cliff points out how little they get to see each other now. Mitch does miss his old friends, as much as he likes his new ones, but he doesn’t get to see them very much. It’s justified, in his opinion.

But, a message comes from Connor and Dylan a couple minutes after midnight, wishing him a Happy New Year, and a picture of the two of them kissing at midnight gets posted in the team’s group message. 

Mitch takes two more shots with Cliff.

 

**

 

Hungover on New Year’s day, scrolling through the pictures of the night before, of Connor and of Dylan and of the two of them, and then of the three of them from Mitch’s time staying at their place in December and remembering how he felt, Mitch knows he needs to so something.

He’s not sure how much more of this he can take.

He thinks it over all day, and then next, and the next. And then he has to go back to campus, to student housing, to his new classes. 

For lack of a better idea or any better plans, and ignoring saying words that would probably break everything into a million pieces, he makes his decision.

 

**

 

When the semester starts, Mitch throws himself into schoolwork.

He doesn’t have any shared classes with Connor this term. None with Dylan. He’s so relieved.

Thornhill still needs help. He works it out so he has shifts Friday through Sunday, going home to stay with his parents on the weekends and make it easier to get to work. He doesn’t take any shifts near campus for a little while, and uses his nights during the week to study.

He begs off beer league too, once it starts up after the holidays, stating his schedule doesn’t work right now. It’s not like he’s missing a lot, and hopefully a couple weeks break from it will help things settle in his stupid stomach and his stupid heart. 

Both Connor and Dylan message him, in a group chat and individually and in Snaps. He makes excuses for a couple days, and when they’re more persistent, just doesn’t reply at all.

They quickly trail off, until he doesn’t hear from them for a few days in a row. It takes a surprisingly short amount of time for them to forget him.

Mitch tries to pretend that doesn’t hurt. It’s not like he has a right to feel that way, and he knows it.

He throws himself back into schoolwork. He gets to know his roommate better, who is dating just one girl and they both turn out to be cool people who decide to respect his space too. He calls up his old buddies from high school, the ones still in town, and meets up with them more often.

He keeps himself busy, basically.

Mitch may be filling in the empty spaces Dylan and Connor quickly came to occupy and take over, but it’s okay. He focuses on good things, on himself, and he isn’t lonely.

Sad, sometimes, when he thinks about them. But not lonely. As far as he considers, it’s fine. Just fine. Everything is fine.

 

**

 

It’s not too long before the Thornhill location doesn’t need him anymore, their staff coming back from medical leave, throwing Mitch’s carefully organized routine into chaos. And Mitch still needs to make money. Biz texts Mitch and says he has shifts for him, because he had to fire the stupid stoner idiot he hired right before Christmas and Biz tells Mitch he’s never allowed to leave again. It’s flattering, but also puts Mitch in an awkward position. 

By some miracle, the first couple weeks Mitch is on the schedule, he’s not with Dylan. Thank the coffee gods.

One unexpectedly calm day, after a blizzard hit, he’s in the back room of Second Cup about to leave from his shift, when Biz comes out of his office, looking more distressed than Mitch has ever seen.

“Everything all right, boss?” Mitch tugs on his toque, preparing to step out into the end-of-January cold.

Biz scrubs a hand over his face. “Not really. Look, I feel really bad asking this, you’ve done so much for us lately, but do you think you could stay a couple extra hours? Take a break if you need, but start covering again by four?”

Mitch tries not to wince. He knows Dylan’s in for an afternoon shift and is supposed to be here by then. Staying a couple hours means having to work with Dylan.

However. Mitch is nothing if not a dedicated, hard worker, and he can just suck it up and deal with this. Working a couple hours would be fine. 

“Sure,” he said, pulling off his toque. “No problem.”

Biz’s shoulders visibly ease and Mitch knows this was the right choice. “Thanks, man. You have no idea how much I appreciate it. There’s some shifts opening up over the next week, if you want to take any, write your name in. But, no pressure. Seriously.”

“Yeah, cool, no problem,” Mitch says. He has so much course work to get done this week, he’s not sure he’d be able to help, but he’ll see what he can do.

Hanging up his coat and bag again, and putting on his nametag, he pops into the manager’s office to look at the open shifts.

Mitch frowns as he goes through the list. Not that he knows Dylan’s schedule off by heart for any other reason but to avoid him, but. This isn’t good.

“What’s wrong with Dylan?” Mitch asks, glancing up at Biz.

Biz shrugs. “You’d know better than me. Aren’t you buds?” It sounds innocent enough, but Biz must know something is up between the two of them. 

“Did he quit?” Mitch would feel like shit if Dylan quit because of him. He knows Dylan needs this job as much as he does. Then panic starts to sink in. “Is he sick? Is he hurt?”

Biz holds up his hands. “Hey, hey. All I know is there was some sort of family emergency. He said he’s fine but he needs the days off. Look, you’re going to have to ask him. All I said was he needed to take care of his, and I would do what I could to cover his shifts.”

“That’s decent of you.” Mitch pulls out his phone. He needs to get to the bottom of this. 

“He’s a good guy. Don’t believe he’s fucking me over for a second.”

“No,” Mitch says, staring at his contact list. “He wouldn’t. I’ll be right back.”

“No problem. You’re doing me a solid. Take the time you need.”

Mitch goes into the small break room at the back of the shop. He wonders if he should go straight to Connor or maybe one of their mutual friends, but decides to suck it up and text Dylan directly.

**[To Dyls:]** _Hey man you okay? see you’re not in this week._

He takes a deep breath and presses send.

The reply is immediate.

**[From Dyls:]** _At the hospital. Connor hurt himself. He’ll be okay but I need to be here._

It’s a punch to Mitch’s stomach. He doesn’t think twice before hitting the call button.

Thankfully, Dylan answers Mitch’s call.

“Hey, Mitch.” Dylan sounds tired. He sounds okay, more put together than Mitch feels, but tired. 

“Hey. Hey. What the hell happened? Is he okay? What’s wrong?”

“Whoa, whoa,” Dylan says, voice soft. “Don’t worry. He’s okay.”

“Don’t worry? You said he was at the hospital. Is that where you are?” Mitch sits down onto one of the chairs in the break room, but he’s tense and nervous. He’s glad no one’s in here right now. He’s a mess.

“Yeah. I’m in the waiting room with his parents. He was walking to class and this big dude slipped on ice and knocked into Connor. They both went down hard, but Connor took the brunt of it. He has a broken collarbone. Can you fucking believe it?”

“Shit. That’s crazy.” Mitch lets out a breath. That’s awful, but… manageable. 

“He’s going into surgery in the morning to have it repaired.”

“Oh Jesus Christ. That’s rough, man. I’m sorry. Tell him I hope he feels better soon, okay?”

There’s a pause. “Sure. If you mean it.” Dylan sounds bitter. Mitch always knew Dylan was good at holding grudges, but this one stings. 

“Of course I do. I’m an asshole, but I’m not that much of an asshole. Come on, Dyls.”

There’s silence again, and then Dylan lets out a whoosh of air. “I know. I just miss—”

Mitch can’t get into this right now. He cuts Dylan off. “Is there anything I can do to help? Do you need anything? I’m covering a few hours at work today but I can swing by the hospital? Or the apartment. Whatever you need, I’m there.”

“Thanks,” Dylan says. His voice sounds soft again, like all the fight or grudge or whatever he was holding onto left him. Mitch can’t even blame him, not in this case, if he didn’t let go. Not when it’s _Connor_. “But his family is here. And mine knows too, so they’re coming by tonight to pick me up tonight and bring me back in the morning. We’ll be okay. But thanks.”

Mitch feels useless. He feels like he should be there—he wants to be there. He wants to be with Dylan to cheer him up. He wants to see for himself first hand Connor is all right.

Mitch doesn’t get to. He doesn’t deserve it. And with how he’s acted lately, he hasn’t earned it in any way either.

“Okay,” he says, trying to sound like it’s fine. Everything is fine. “But let me know, okay? Anything you need, let me know. I’m there.”

“Sure,” Dylan says. “I will. I gotta go.”

“Later, man.”

The call is ended when Mitch pulls his phone away from his ear. He takes a deep breath, trying to process all he knows. Then he stands up, walks to Biz’s office, and puts himself down for most of Dylan’s shifts.

He might not be able to be there in person, but he will do everything he can to help out his boys. 

 

**

 

The next five days are a complete daze for Mitch. He goes to class, he goes to Second Cup to work his shifts, and the extra shifts he picked up. He does his job, and he does his job well, like always, even if he feels like a zombie. He even fills in at a beer league game, because the team’s down two players and that’s a hard hit. He has a good time with the guys, who welcome him with open arms. Maybe Connor and Dylan didn’t tell them what a dickwad he's been, which is a relief. All other spare time he carves for himself is used to get course work done. 

Sleep is secondary. Who needs sleep?

He doesn’t expect to hear from Dylan much, but it warms his heart that Snaps and texts are initiated by Dylan at first, giving him updates as to what’s going on. And then Connor gets better, and he sends a couple Snaps too, such as him and Dylan curled up carefully in Connor’s hospital bed, then later after he’s discharged Dylan and Connor smiling in the back of his parents’ car as they take Connor home, Connor looking dopey and drugged up but _okay_ , and then just daily updates of his recovery.

It should bother Mitch. It should make him feel sad and unwanted that he’s not there. But. It doesn’t. It had been his choice. He’s just happy for them that Connor’s okay and they’re together and that... that’s what’s important. Sure, Mitch wants them. He wishes he could be with them both.

He’s not. It’s okay. Life will go on.

But that doesn’t make him care for them any less.

 

**

 

After work one day, he takes his tips from the week and stops by the Walmart Supercenter. He picks up frozen dinners he knows they like so they have something when they come home after the weekend. One less thing for them to worry about. On a whim, he buys Connor the Crosby _Pop!_ on display by the till.

He uses the key he still has and didn’t have the heart to return, not when they didn’t ask him, and lets himself into their apartment. They’re not home, but he knew they wouldn’t be. He puts the frozen meals in the freezer, taking a Snap and sending it so they know it’s there. He puts the figurine on the counter but doesn’t send a pic. Connor can find it as a surprise. 

He thinks about sitting down at the table, start studying like he used to. But it doesn’t seem right now. Not without Dylan sitting across from him, humming off-key under his breath to whatever’s playing on his wireless headphones, or Connor in the living room pretending to study but watching the hockey highlights on Sportsnet. 

He sighs, takes the key off the ring—but keeps the Maple Leafs key chain itself—and leaves it on the table.

 

**

 

Mitch rushes into the back of Second Cup from the employee entrance, pulling off his toque and shrugging out of his jacket. 

“Mitch,” Biz calls out.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry, I’ll be there in a second.”

He isn’t late, per se, but he’s got exactly two minutes before his shifts starts. He’s usually much earlier than that, but he pulled an all nighter getting a paper done and he got lost in studying at the library and he needs to make himself a coffee if he expects to make it through this shift at all.

It’s been a long ass week and he is dead tired.

“What are you doing here?” Biz asks, popping his head into the staff room.

“What do you mean? I have a shift starting right away,” Mitch says. He pulls off his old, ratty sweatshirt and tugs on the black t-shirt from his bag. 

“I messaged you,” Biz says. 

“Had my phone off at the library.” He’d realized he’d been so late that he rushed to work without checking any of his notifs once he had turned it on.

“Well, bud, you don’t have to work today. The shift is covered.”

“Yeah, by me,” Mitch says, slightly annoyed. He said he would pick up this shift, so he will. He didn’t ask for it to be covered.

“No,” Dylan says. “It’s my shift, I’ll work it.”

Mitch spins around, and Biz isn’t standing there anymore. It’s Dylan, dressed in dark grey pants and a black shirt, his stupid Second Cup pageboy cap tugged down firmly on his head. He looks ready for a shift he isn’t supposed to work.

Mitch’s breath catches in his throat. Dylan looks—rested, and _good_. And like he’s happy to see Mitch.

“You look like shit,” Dylan says.

“Fuck you, I’m a god,” Mitch involuntary responds, a playful habit he apparently hasn't broken.

The corner of Dylan’s mouth twitches. “Think a lot of yourself, don’t you?”

“When you’re this awesome...” Mitch gestures at himself, half-heartedly, then lets his hand fall to his side. He frowns. “Seriously, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with Connor?”

“Connor is probably so fucking sick of me. I’ve been pretty clingy this week.” 

“I don’t believe that for one second,” Mitch says. He pauses. “About Connor being sick of you, anyway.”

Dylan grins. “Okay, true that.” The grin drops, but his face is still soft. Open. Mitch doesn’t understand why. “So, like. Thanks. For this week. You’ve been awesome.”

Mitch blinks at him. “I didn’t do anything. I wanted to, but—”

“You got us groceries, which is amazing like you wouldn’t believe. And Connor loves his little Sid the Kid.” Mitch can’t help but smile at that. Dylan smiles too, as if thinking about Connor happy is enough to make him happy. It probably is. Dylan continues, “You covered my shifts, like a lunatic. Did you sleep at all?”

Mitch shrugs. “Sure,” he lies.

Dylan shakes his head. “That’s why I’m here. Connor’s with his parents right now, I’m so caught up on schoolwork I don’t know what to do with myself, and you look like the walking dead. I’ll work my own shift today. It’s cool.”

“Only if you’re sure,” Mitch says reluctantly.

“One hundred percent.” 

Mitch’s shoulders visibly deflate. He’s so exhausted he’s on the edge of delirious crying because he doesn’t know what else to do. “Thank God. Okay. Only if you’re—”

“Mitch,” Dylan says, cutting him off. He steps closer, and closer, until he’s only a couple inches away from Mitch. Mitch freezes like a deer in headlights. He should escape but he can’t stop staring at Dylan. “You should go sleep.”

Mitch shakes his head. “Can’t. I have three chapters to read before tomorrow.”

“Then go to our place and read them.” Mitch starts to shake his head again, because he literally can’t get into the place, but then Dylan fishes into his pants pocket and pulls out the spare key, holding it up to Mitch. “You might need this, though. Accidentally left it behind?”

There’s a lot Mitch needs. An apartment key is the least of his worries. But glancing up at Dylan, meeting his gaze straight on, Mitch sees—sees pride and worry and hope, and he can’t turn it down. He’s just going to get broken hearted in the end, and it’ll be harder to move on, but he can’t reject this.

He takes the key back. “I—yeah. I didn’t mean to. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He means a lot in those few words. A smile spreads against Dylan’s face, his eyes adorably crinkling at the corners, and Mitch knows Dylan understood exactly what he meant.

“Go home,” Dylan says. “And we’ll see you later, okay? Wait for us.”

Mitch’s heart thumps, and he’s the biggest fucking idiot in the world, but he nods. He’ll go, and he’ll wait.

 

**

 

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, though.

He’s stretched out on the couch in Dylan and Connor’s living room, feeling more at home than he ever has, even when he was staying there for a while.

It’s dangerous.

Hushed whispers-turned laughter had woken him up, and he lies there staring at the ceiling, listening to Connor hush a giggling Dylan before laughing himself, in turn being shushed by Dylan.

It’s the best sound Mitch has heard in weeks.

He rolls off the couch and pads his way to the kitchen. “Hey,” he croaks.

The two culprits turn in surprise, Connor looking sheepish and Dylan grinning widely.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Dylan says happily.

“Fuck, morning, what—” Mitch glances at glowing green numbers on the shitty microwave, and sees that it’s half past eight in the evening. “Asshole.” Dylan grins again as Mitch scrubs a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“We tried to be quiet,” Connor says.

Mitch’s gaze zeros in on him. Connor, here, standing in front of him. His arm isn’t in a sling or anything, and there’s a tiny bit of medical tape sticking out the top of his collar.

“Connor, man,” he breaths out. “How’re you feeling?”

“Good. I’m good, honestly.”

“He has to be careful,” Dylan supplies. “And he has to go to physio. And he can’t do anything stupid again—”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Connor grumbles. 

“Right, it was no one’s fault, nature got you,” Dylan says, rolling his eyes.

“But I’m fine,” Connor says directly to Mitch. “And, thanks. For, you know.”

Mitch points to the _Pop!_ figurine, which now has a home on the windowsill over the kitchen sink. “Figured you needed some sort of guardian.”

“I don’t mean for that. I mean for all the help this week.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Mitch says. He’s sick of them both complimenting him like he did something, like he mattered to their lives. He is a shit friend with a shit crush and they don’t need to deal with that. “Look. I’m glad you’re okay. And I’m glad I could help in whatever way I could. I—I should go, I think.”

Connor frowns, and when Mitch goes to turn away from him, from them both, and make his escape, Dylan is quick and blocks his path.

“No way,” Dylan says. “You can’t do this to us. Not again.”

“I’m not doing anything. Dylan, move out of my way.”

Dylan steps forward, crowds close to Mitch. Mitch backs away, but then bumps into Connor behind him.

“Shit,” Mitch says, half jumping around, half away from Connor, so his back bumps into Dylan’s chest again. “Sorry, didn’t mean to. You okay?”

“I’m not hurt.” Connor pauses. “Not from _this_. You disappearing for a month?” Connor frowns. “Now _that_ sucks.”

“What did we do?” Dylan asks into Mitch’s ear. He’s leaned in so close Mitch can smell his aftershave, light and fresh, mixed in with the smell of coffee, and so perfectly Dylan. “Are you mad at us?”

Mitch closes his eyes but shakes his head. “No. Never.”

“Then what?” Connor asks. He places his good hand on Mitch’s bicep, squeezing lightly. “What happened?”

“I can’t do this,” Mitch says. “Please don’t make me say this. I’m going to ruin everything. More than I already have.”

“You haven’t,” Dylan says. “Finally, something you aren’t fucking good at.”

Mitch blinks at him, surprised. “What?”

“Feelings. You are awful at feelings.”

“Fuck you,” Mitch retorts instinctively. “I’m great at feelings. I just had too many of them, and—” He cuts himself off, mouth snapping shut. He’s said too much. He’s frozen in spot, though he’s warm and distracted by their body heat. He’s stuck between the two of them, and he doesn’t know how to move, but he doesn’t know what to say without making everything worse.

“It’s okay,” Connor says, voice gentle, as if trying not to spook Mitch. 

Trying not to let him down too hard.

Mitch shakes his head. He moves, quick and carefully, ducking under their arms. He backs away from them, hands up. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I don’t want to mess things up.”

“So you thought ghosting would fix things?” Dylan asks. He sounds bitter, suddenly, like he did on the phone at hospital. 

Connor elbows him in the ribs with his good arm, then turns to Mitch. “Mitch, it’s okay. We—”

Mitch shakes his head and cuts Connor off. “It’s not okay. You guys are—you’re perfect together, and I don’t want to do anything to get in the way or cause trouble. I didn’t want to hurt you, but I knew staying away would make things easier.”

“You think being away from us would make things easier for us?”

“No. Easier for _me_.” Mitch’s shoulders deflate and he looks at the floor. He’s fucked up, he could have and should have done this all better. He didn’t know how. And now he’s stuck facing it, and it’s as hard as he thought it would be. “Being around you—liking you— _wanting_ you, when I can’t have it? It sucks. It’s hard.”

He looks up at them, defiant suddenly. “This isn’t because you aren’t awesome. It’s because you’re too awesome, and I need to figure out a way to move on, okay?” He digs around in his jeans pocket, and pulls out the lonely key. He puts it on the kitchen table. “Don’t take this personally, okay? I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—about disappearing over the last couple weeks. I was a dick and I know it. I should have done this better. So I’m asking you now. Just—give me space. Let me move on.”

“No,” Dylan says, sharply. “No way.”

Mitch looks up at him again, and Dylan’s face is soft, an exact contrast to his words. He’s got a small smile on his face, crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Mitch glances at Connor, whose eyes are wide and bright and focused on Mitch, bottom lip tugged between his teeth.

They’re looking at Mitch the way they look at each other.

“What.” Mitch is confused.

“We were idiots too,” Dylan says. “It took us longer to catch on, to really understand how we felt.”

“It took you not being here for us to realize,” Connor adds. “And, we had to talk about it. And figure out what was good for us. We both agree that you are good for us, Mitch.”

Mitch is speechless. His brain is taking time processing what's being said, because it can't possibly be true. But there is a little bit of hope blossoming in his stomach that he's not sure what to do with. That he's not sure he's allowed to do anything with yet. 

“So we made a plan,” Dylan adds, oblivious to Mitch's internal struggle. He adds, “But then Connor ruined it.”

“I did not!” Connor protests. “Nature got me.”

“Plan?” Mitch wants to know more about that. And everything.

“We want you,” Dylan says, pointed and directly. “And we were going to show you how much. Convince you that you belong with us. You’re awesome too, and we are not letting you walk out of our life again.”

“You—I’m what? I mean, hell yes, I’m awesome,” Mitch says. He doesn’t sound quite as confident as usual when he says it, and Dylan and Connor have matching grins, those assholes. And there it is. The hope turned into reality. They _want_ him. Both of them. 

“So you—” he gestures between the two of them “—are still dating. And I would, what, be your side piece?” He frowns. He’s not entirely sure that’s what he would be interested in. Sleeping with them would be funfuckingtastic, sure, but. That’s not what he wants from them.

They both shake their heads, and in unison move toward Mitch again. Mitch doesn’t try to get away. He doesn’t think he has to anymore. 

Dylan slips behind him, arms snaking around Mitch’s waist. Connor stands in front of Mitch, and leans in, bumping his forehead against Mitch’s ever so gently. 

“We want to be boyfriends with you,” Connor says quietly. 

“Can we do that?” Mitch whispers into the air between them. Anything louder feels like it might break this fragile moment.

“I don’t see why the hell not,” Dylan says, not quiet at all. He nuzzles his nose into Mitch’s neck, sending shivers down Mitch’s spine. “If this is what we all want, we should just go for it.”

“Okay,” Mitch says. As if he’d say anything different. He can have this. He doesn’t know how, and they’re going to have to talk about it. He’s not stupid to think this will be instantly perfect. It’s going to take work. But... he can have this. They all can.

“Okay?” Connor says, mouth tugging up into a grin. 

“Okay,” Mitch repeats. He tilts his head up, just a little, so that his mouth is so very, very close to Connor’s. “Okay?”

Connor sighs happily and nods, and presses his lips against Mitch’s, soft but sure. Mitch’s breath catches in his throat before he’s kissing Connor back in kind, sweet and just as sure.

“Fucking right, that’s okay,” Dylan says. Mitch and Connor break apart when they start laughing. “I want some of that,” Dylan says, and starts pressing kisses against Mitch’s neck, his jaw, sloppily against his cheek.

“Stop it, oh my God.” Mitch nearly squeaks, which is just embarrassing, but Connor laughs happily and Dylan blows a raspberry against Mitch’s cheek. “You asshole, stop it.”

Dylan lets go enough so Mitch can turn in his arms, and Mitch is ready to retaliate, but Dylan kisses Mitch before he has the chance. It’s hard and enthusiastic and so focused. It’s everything Mitch imagined kissing Dylan would be like. 

“This is really happening,” Mitch says, breathless, once they break apart.

“Fucking right it is,” they say in unison, and Mitch laughs. It’s so perfectly them.

It’s so perfectly all of them.


End file.
